


Exitus Ācta Probat

by local_doom_void



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen, Murder, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 03:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22009567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/local_doom_void/pseuds/local_doom_void
Summary: The ends do justify the means.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Exitus Ācta Probat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atlanta_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlanta_Black/gifts).



> This was inspired by a post made in the prompts for the Tomarrymort Chamber of Secrets-hosted flash fest back in October. It's super late. Happy belated Christmas present to my favorite Chaos Wife. :uwu: :sluglove:
> 
> **Prompt**
> 
> your real typical Hermione gets sent to the past to kill Tom and prevent the rise of voldemort. except there is no moral crisis because it's hermione and she yeets his ass into death. pls

_Ah_ , says the sorting hat into her head. _You’ve got a nice assortment here, Ms. Granger. And I see you know how this works._

Hermione says nothing.

_I do believe that only Hufflepuff is out of the running… but you have a specific destination in mind, don’t you?_

She does.

_Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you from this course of action? No, I see there isn’t…_

Nothing, she affirms.

_Very well. There is certainly something to be said for the ends justifying the means, is there not? One can only hope that you may find something worthy of your attention in…_

“SLYTHERIN!” the hat yells.

Hermione Granger walks to the table of green and silver with her head held high.

  


There is a plan. A small part of the research was done in 1998, but she has access to it regardless. She sets about it immediately. For the moment, grades do not matter to her self-worth. It’s strangely freeing, to realize that grades do not matter – there are more important things. She recalls this realization before, made once at age 11 – and then again, and then again, a series of rediscoveries made until she finally managed to beat it into her head permanently sometime around fifth year.

Besides, there is a certain expectation of a muggleborn in Slytherin. They expect her to be less than them. She gives them what they want, because she’s already taken her OWLs and aced them, so this homework, given in classes that she took two years ago in a future just as bleak, do not matter to her. She gives them perfunctory attention, and that is all.

In return, nobody pays her much attention. The attempts at hexes in the corridors are easily dealt with by wartime reflexes and quick memory charms. In turn, they are all as unworthy of her attention as they deem her person unworthy of theirs.

All but one. Tom Riddle.

Hermione studies him quite a lot, but only when she’s certain she will not be observed. It is, after all, necessary to know the habits of the target before any attempt can be made on their life.

  


There is a horcrux in Tom Marvolo Riddle’s trunk. There is a horcrux sitting on the fingers of his left hand. These do not offer much challenge, beyond the fact that Tom Riddle will require three deaths to finally die. Of course, alerting Riddle to her machinations will be counter-productive unless she can isolate each part at once, and he keeps an annoyingly close eye on both of them.

Oh well, she thinks, as she stands over his bed at 2 in the morning with her wand trained on his neck. All she needs is time.

The portkey works. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but it’s much nicer that it does.

  


When Tom Riddle awakens in the middle of the Forest of Dean, he is bound and gagged. His wand lies snapped to pieces on the forest floor beside his head and is the first thing that he sees when he wakes up. He does not have time to muffle his instinctive scream. Hermione finds it interesting that he, of all people, seems to be able to feel grief.

Even if it _is_ only over a wand.

He is petrified and immobilized beyond even the ropes and gag, and his magic lies suppressed for twenty-four hours, bound metaphysically by a potion injected via syringe. Magic has many answers, but sometimes, Hermione has found that mundane methods are simply more straightforward.

She doesn’t have time for him, so she ignores him. Her time is instead devoted to scribing a ritual circle and double-checking her arithmantic calculations. Once she feels satisfied with her works, she breaks the wards on his trunk in the easiest possible way – by overloading them and blowing it up. Predictably, the diary is the only item that escapes entirely unscathed. She snatches it up and throws it into the circle, where it falls open alongside the ring that she has earlier snatched from Riddle’s hand.

She begins the ritual. Out of the corner of her eyes, she notices that Riddle’s eyes widen as she progresses. The boy noticeably twitches, fighting against the ropes and the various paralyses she’s laid upon him, but it’s far too late. The ritual is in full swing, and she has no intention of stopping until she has removed him from this planet.

His body writhes when the ritual finishes. Blackened smoke pours from the ring and the diary, spiraling into Riddle’s body. Another scream, this time of pain, emerges through the gag as his soul is forcibly jammed back together in one container. That the container is a body doesn’t really matter to the ritual, or to Hermione – this just seemed the most expedient route to take. It’s very easy to cast the killing curse upon a human, after all. A wraith is not so easily vanquished.

There is blood staining the gag when she steps over to him. Her magic is drained from the ritual, but she retains strength enough for this.

Perhaps another would grant Riddle some last words. Hermione sees no point.

“ _Avada Kedavra._ ”

Tom Riddle is no longer a problem.

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that only for you would I destroy my son.


End file.
